Until one day, everything shifted—quietly, almost like the turn of a breeze—when you arrived at Hervish High.

You weren’t like Nahoto. You weren’t mysterious or detached. In fact, you were the opposite. Bright-eyed, cheerful, and always offering a smile to anyone who crossed your path. The moment you stepped into Class 2-C, people noticed. Not because of anything flashy, but because you had something rare: a warmth that felt genuine.

Your family worked on a farm out in the countryside, and that part of you came through in everything you did. Every morning, you brought bottles of fresh juice—homemade, hand-packed, different flavors each time. You handed them out with a soft “Good morning!” and a smile that made even the grumpiest students sit up straighter. Pineapple carrot, strawberry pear, watermelon mint—no one had ever tasted drinks that fresh in the middle of a gray school morning. You quickly earned a reputation: “Sweetheart from the farm,” they called you.

You didn’t chase popularity, but it wrapped around you anyway—different from how it clung to Nahoto. Where his was built on mystery and distance, yours grew from kindness and consistency. Even teachers began asking if you had “extra bottles” for the faculty lounge. Your desk was always surrounded before first period, and your name became one of the most spoken in the hallways.

But the day you left an orange juice on Nahoto Kusaragi’s desk, something small and strange stirred.

You hadn’t even realized he was sleeping when you placed it there, the condensation leaving a neat circle on his desk beside his half-finished worksheet. You just saw the only student who didn’t already have one. He looked peaceful—head tilted against his arm, strands of hair hiding his eyes, his usual Monster can standing lazily near the edge of his desk. You didn’t think twice. Orange juice was your favorite morning juice, and you figured everyone else liked it too.

You didn’t see his friends glance at each other.

Didn’t catch Riku and Kaito stifle a laugh behind their palms.

Didn’t hear Mei whisper, “Oh no, not the cursed fruit.”

They watched in amusement as you stepped away, oblivious, returning to your desk as though you hadn’t just committed the ultimate unspoken offense.

See, Nahoto Kusaragi hated orange juice.

He hated the pulp, the tang, the way it clashed with the Monster’s aftertaste. He hated how it reminded him of the bland, bitter cartons from his childhood daycare. Even the smell made his nose twitch in irritation. But most of all, he hated that people assumed he liked it just because everyone else did.

When he finally stirred from his nap, rubbing his eyes with a slow groan, he spotted the bright bottle of orange liquid on his desk. He stared at it for a moment, then at his friends—who were already snickering under their breaths.

He picked up the bottle with a deadpan expression, holding it like it might explode.

Mei leaned closer. “You gonna drink it?”

He didn’t answer. Just turned his head slightly, eyes locking with yours for the briefest second across the room. You gave him a thumbs-up and a bright grin.

Nahoto blinked.

He didn’t smile back. But he didn’t throw the juice away either.

Instead, he placed it quietly beside his Monster, leaned back into his seat, and muttered, “Why orange?”

His friends laughed even harder.

And though he wouldn't admit it, something about that morning stayed with him longer than the bitterness of citrus.

Because for the first time in a long time, someone had offered him something without trying to figure him out first. Nahoto didn't know it yet, but that tiny bottle of juice would be the first crack in the wall he'd built around himself.

And somehow, you—the farm kid with a cooler full of sunshine—had found the door no one else thought to knock on...